


Sitting in a Tin Can

by NebulousMistress



Series: The Shadow Over Atlantis [5]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom, Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode: s04e17 Midway, Gen, did the research
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6778663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousMistress/pseuds/NebulousMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midway Station exploded and now they have to wait. Waiting is boring. Can secrets survive boredom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sitting in a Tin Can

**Author's Note:**

> Some banter lifted from the episode courtesy of the Gateworld.net transcript.

The puddlejumper/escape pod was not meant for this. It was stocked with enough food and water for three weeks for four men. They had six.

The coffee packets lasted a day. The withdrawal migraines began soon after.

“My sense of smell gets very sensitive when I have a migraine,” Kavanagh warned. “And we're stuck here in a very small enclosed space with poor air circulation. The way I see it we're damned lucky this tin can has a waste disposal system.”

He got a chorus of solemn nods in response to that one.

“But! But I tell you all this,” he continued. “I will hurt the first person who dares pass gas in here.”

“Just don't be loud about it,” Rodney pleaded. He was curled in on himself, hiding his head between his knees. It kept out some of the light and the image of the surrounding walls.

“I can't believe stuck I'm here,” Lee said randomly. “I was supposed to go home today. I'm missing out on some truly epic loot.”

Rodney glared at him, eyes filmy under a third eyelid nobody wanted to look at too closely. “Really? _World of Warcraft_?”

“Yeah...” Lee said wistfully.

“I'm not surprised,” Rodney said before curling back up.

“You know, I could never forgive Blizzard for shelving _Starcraft: Ghost_ in favor of moving resources to the WoW release,” Kavanagh said.

“WoW's their primary moneymaker,” Lee defended. “Of course they were going to shelve a second-tier vaporware game.”

“Second-tier? Vaporware?! _Ghost_ was in post-production! It was essentially finished. Maybe a month or three of bug fixing and then marketing. But noooo, three and a half years down the drain just so they could work on an addictive little MMO.”

“And that's a bad thing?”

“Do you have any idea what kind of backing Starcraft has? There are international tournaments! It's the national sport of South Korea! When was the last time organized crime got involved in a video game?”

Near the door John felt a gurgle in his stomach. He tried to let the gas out quietly, cringing when a loud flapping noise accompanied the fart. When Kavanagh's murderous eyes turned toward him John gave an unmanly squeak and hid in the cockpit.

The cockpit door slid closed and John gave a sigh of relief. Safe from science-y wrath. He settled himself down in the pilot's chair and slipped on his headphones.

He resolutely ignored the nagging voice that reminded him that all the food, the water, and the waste disposal was in the back.

Maybe he could sneak back there later.

*****

Deodorant started to break down by the end of the second day.

“Something smells like fish,” Kavanagh complained.

A marine checked the MRE he was eating. Nope, not fish. Smelled like ass, though.

“Why would you say that?” Rodney asked defensively. He surreptitiously sniffed at his armpit. He didn't smell anything...

“Dunno what it could be,” said the marine. He held up the MRE bag, showing the words 'chili w/ beans'. Kavanagh glared at the words, his nose wrinkling. There would be problems later.

“None of you have a working sense of smell,” Kavanagh accused. “I tell you, something smells like fish.”

“Like what?” Lee asked. “There's nothing that could smell fishy.” He paused, sniffing the air. “You may be right, though. Something does smell a bit like fish.”

“I--I don't smell anything,” Rodney said, trying not to stammer. It was true, though, he didn't smell anything. Now that Kavangh mentioned it, he didn't smell a single scent at all.

Kavanagh gave Rodney a long, suspicious stare. “What have you been eating recently, McKay?” he demanded.

Rodney didn't answer, lost in his own realization. He plopped down on the floor, muttering about morons with absurd senses of smell.

*****

Looking back, Rodney was surprised that the dreams hadn't started right away. He'd never been good with small spaces and the distraction of company, such as it was, didn't change the facts. He was still stuck here in the Void, trapped in the cargohold of a puddlejumper with two nuts, two marines, and a friend who only came out of the cockpit to grab food and use the toilet.

Thus when he was awoken by violent shaking he didn't panic. Barely.

Rodney found himself shoved to one side of the jumper, Kavanagh shaking him by the shoulders. His neck was stiff, his throat sore from screaming, his chest heaving through terrified breaths, his eyes darting wildly in a mad search for the water he was sure was filling the jumper and he'd be the only one left, everyone else drowned, forced to taste the stench of death in his gills as he drifted alone in the Void...

“There, done,” Kavanagh said, shoving Rodney away as he stood up. “Now maybe you'll shut up.”

Rodney took another look around. Everyone was wide awake and clustered at the cockpit door. Both marines had their fingers in their ears and were wincing with remembered pain. Lee was huddled in the corner, watching Rodney like he were possessed. The cockpit door was cracked, Sheppard peering through with concern.

“Oh,” Rodney said in a small voice. “Sorry for waking you up...” He tried to turn away from their stares and curl up to get back to sleep.

“Oh no you don't,” Kavanagh challenged. “We're sleeping in shifts now. The rest of us are getting back to sleep. You get to stay awake.”

Rodney sat up with a hmph and a glare. “Sleeping in shifts, my ass,” he grumbled. “Not safe to sleep with you morons awake. You'll do something.”

“Will you go be crazy somewhere else?” Kavanagh demanded, eyes stubbornly held closed.

Rodney hmphed again and took advantage of the open cockpit door. He slipped inside and thought it closed behind him.

“You okay?” Sheppard asked.

Rodney shrugged. “I don't like the dreams.”

“I can tell.”

“Thank you Colonel Obvious.”

John gave Rodney a smirk and handed him the headphones.

“Thanks,” Rodney said, slipping them on. They almost blocked the sound of Kavanagh scolding everyone for snoring, mumbling, moving in their sleep, thinking too loudly...

Ozzy's voice flowed over him. His eyes drifted shut and he leaned back in the copilot's chair, feet up on the silent console. His head fell back, bones popping in his neck. He sighed at the result, amazed at how uncomfortable his neck had been.

“You know, you do smell,” Sheppard said. “I've noticed it before. Any time you've been without a shower long enough you get a definite BO. It does kind of smell like fish.”

“Gee, thanks,” Rodney said. He tried to look over at Sheppard but couldn't turn his head very well. Instead he had to sit up and turn much of his torso. “I'd say I'm not the only one, wouldn't you think?”

Sheppard thought for a moment and came to a horrible realization. The puddlejumper was stocked with food and water but no deodorant.

*****

In order to extend rations each person was limited to one MRE per day. That mealtime quickly turned the puddlejumper into a Christmas in bartertown.

“Great. I got the chicken fajitas.”

“Ha, sucker. I got... oh shit! I got the cursed candy. Aww, man...”

“The 'charms' aren't cursed. Here, I'll eat them.”

“Fine. Trade you for your gum.”

“Done.”

“Aww, I got tuna fish? I hate this stuff.”

“Trade you. I got beef ravioli.”

“You'd trade that for this shit? Done and done. Gimme.”

“Dammit, I got lemon sports drink. I can't drink that. Here, free to a good home.”

“Hey, if you take two of the bread rations and some peanut butter you can make a sandwich.”

“I could go for a sandwich.”

“You already have that stinking fish, McKay.”

“True, why taint it with bread?”

“God, what I wouldn't do for a salad, though...”

“Oh, yeah, a salad. With tomatoes and bacon bits and cucumbers and avocado and cottage cheese...”

“Oh ick, who puts cottage cheese on a salad? Try real cheese.”

“Unlike some of us, Lee, we in the military have to keep weight.”

“Why waste cheese curds on salad though? They go on french fries. With gravy.”

“Ew, McKay, leave your weird Canadian food out of this.”

“I always liked red bell pepper on my salads.”

“Have you tried salad with dried herring?”

“McKay...”

“What? It's good!”

“Just don't.”

“How can you eat those things? They're cursed!”

“There's no such thing as curses.”

“Says you.”

“Just sayin', Kavanagh, you ate the things. If something goes wrong it's your fault.”

“And I'd eat them again.”

“Your fault.”

*****

The pranks began after the first week. They did not go well. Kavanagh was too light a sleeper, Lee slept curled up with a marine for comfort, the marines tended to respond to pranks with a fist to the face, Sheppard slept in the cockpit.

That left only one good target.

It was not easy. McKay slept deeply when he wasn't dreaming, squirmed fitfully when he was. A prank attempt might end with a bloodcurdling scream or it might yield a three hour rant complete with waving arms, pacing, raving, and usually hitting his hand on a wall and muttering about vengeance.

If there was anything Kavanagh learned from his time on Atlantis it was that pranking was serious business. The only way to survive was to prank back, anonymously if possible. Ink on eyepieces, rumors, magnetically sticking furniture to ceilings, doping the coffee, photographs for blackmail... It was all fair game, all fought right under the administrator's distracted gaze.

Here in the puddlejumper a million light years from any acting administrator there was no one to stop Kavanagh from letting go. A proper prank took time, time they had in spades. He found himself listening to McKay when he slept.

There were the screams but those were unintelligible and generally wordless. Often Rodney would make strange noises, bleats and barks, growls and hisses. One nap he did nothing but purr, a sound that continued for far too long after he woke up and found himself in the middle of a marine snuggle.

Occasionally Rodney would talk in his sleep. Actual words, sort of. They were words in no language Kavanagh knew, spoken in a scratchy voice that was much more difficult to understand than it might once have been, but they were familiar. He recognized some of the sounds from his own youth misspent in the horror section of the library, others from strange conversations at the SGC held in hushed whispers and sly glances.

Kavanagh had no idea how Rodney was pronouncing them.

But he knew how to exploit them.

After days of careful listening he gestured Lee and the marines to silence while Rodney slept. He leaned down so his lips were next to Rodney's ear, all the easier to whisper blasphemies.

“That is not dead which can eternal lie,” Kavanagh whispered. “And with strange aeons even death may die.”

Rodney twitched in his sleep as the whale chasing him changed tactics, clamping its powerful jaws on his leg and dragging him deep underwater.

“The Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, the Old Ones will be...”

The dream's human form was shed and water coursed past open gills as the whale pulled Rodney down through shimmering blue-green to a shining sunken Atlantis. Her spires sparkled, her windows glowed, her piers spread into the silt of the abyssal plains. The shield was down.

“Yog-Sothoth is the key, Yog-Sothoth is the gate.”

Rodney marveled at what his descendants and those of his Nest had done with the place. The city thrummed with power, abounded with knowledge, all of it carefully controlled. The stars had long gone right and he was happy. “Ia Dagon...” he murmured through the veil of sleep. “Ia Hydra... Ia Cthulhu...”

“Ia Hydra,” Kavanagh repeated. “Ia Dagon. Ia Cthulhu.”

“Cthulhu fhtagn... Cthulhu R'lyeh fhtagn... fhtagn ph'Atlantisss...”

Kavanagh's eyes went wide with the mention of Atlantis. He caught his surprise and built upon it. “Cthulhu R'lyeh fhtagn ph'Atlantis,” he whispered.

Rodney swam the corridors of his dream, purring in greeting at those he found there. Sheppard's twin grandchildren with their chaotic dorsal fins always raised in wonder, Zelenka's beautiful daughter with her gleaming silver scales, Madison swimming around the spires in wide lazy circles, hundreds more familiar and not. “Yog-Sssothoth wgah'nagl ph'Atlantisss... R'lyeh'nagl... Atlantisss fhtagn... Ia Hydra... Ia Yog-Sssothothhh...”

“Ia Yog-Sothoth,” Kavanagh goaded.

“Ia Yog-Sssothoth... Ia... **IA**!”

Kavanagh shot back as the cockpit door slammed open and Rodney awoke.

Rodney grabbed at his neck, eyes darting wildly before they alighted on Kavanagh. A wave of fury then overtook him and he snarled, long and feral, teeth bared. Too many sharp teeth. Eyes flashed with an odd reflection as he advanced upon Kavanagh, teeth sharp and claws splayed before he paused. The snarl fell into a growl, deep and inhuman as Rodney shoved his way past prey and pawn into the cockpit. It closed behind him and he hissed, long and low, at the closed door and the morons behind it.

It took several moments before he realized he was not alone.

And John Sheppard _didn't know._

“Is there something you'd like to tell me, McKay?” Sheppard demanded.

“No...” Rodney's voice was small, as small as he tried to make himself as he curled up with his knees to his chest.

“You sure about that?” Sheppard's eyes were carefully neutral, held Rodney still where he was.

A sudden wave of guilt washed over Rodney. It wasn't that he didn't trust John, he really did, it was just that he still hoped that if he could just put off the Change then it wouldn't happen and it wouldn't be an issue. But that wasn't enough anymore, was it. It was already happening, faster than he could compensate for. He couldn't move his neck right anymore, his shoes were painfully uncomfortable, he couldn't smell anything, and there were scales in all sorts of unreachable places.

“It's a family thing,” Rodney said. “Genetics. I-- I can't say anything more. Please, John don't ask. Not now.”

Sheppard wanted to demand more, much more, but he knew that look on Rodney's face, in his eyes. Mortal terror was an expression that Sheppard had seen on Rodney's face too often. Why would now warrant it?

“Later then,” Sheppard agreed. “After we get out of this.”

Rodney curled up tighter. It wasn't going away, not really. Just postponed. Maybe he could come up with something before then.

*****

“Everyone stand back! We're popping this thing open!”

Soldiers stepped back from the puddlejumper they'd just picked up near the wreckage of Midway Station. It was meant to be used as an escape pod in case something happened. No one knew what might be inside after almost two weeks.

Even if it was filled with friendlies no one really wanted to be the one to crack the seal.

Ronon stood in front of the hatch as it opened. He could feel an oppressive cloud push everyone else back, away from its source. Ronon did not go unscathed, his nose hairs curling from the stench of ripened human barely covering a strong note of fish.

“Where are we?” came the question from within. There were people, survivors of the explosion. Ronon saw two marines, Dr. Lee. Dr. Kavanagh, and Dr. McKay.

“Daedalus 302 bay,” Ronon answered. “Saw you guys, scooped you up, headed back to Atlantis.” Kavanagh tried to hug him in relief but was easily brushed aside.

“Midway was destroyed,” Rodney said.

“Yeah, we saw. Where's Sheppard?”

“Lasted about a day,” Rodney mocked, opening the cockpit door with a gesture and a thought. “Sealed himself in there.” Ronon was about to ask about the fishy smell but his question died as Rodney bolted out of the jumper shouting something about a day-long shower.

“No wonder he didn't hear the radio call,” Ronon said. Sheppard was asleep. Ronon poked him until he woke up.

John jumped awake and blinked owlishly. “Thank God,” he marvelled. “I almost shot myself listening to that.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Ronon said, grinning. His friends were safe and that was what mattered.

*****

Considering the initial argument with resource management, the deed, and then the secondary argument with the water recycling crew, it was a good seven hours before the Daedalus's rumor mill got hold of the legendary Five Hour Shower. Those hearing the rumor were sure that the clawed and fanged monster hissing at intruders was an exaggeration.

The briefing took _hours_ and by the time it was over Rodney felt ready for another shower. Or maybe sleep. Perhaps both? Both sounded good, sleeping soundly with the feeling of soft cool water running over his scales. He wasn't sure if he should be annoyed, relieved, or scared when Sheppard followed him to his quarters.

“We need to talk.”

Rodney sighed, trying to think of a way out of this. Finding none he led Sheppard to his assigned cabin and flopped on the bed. He gazed pointedly up at the ceiling as the man paced.

“You wanted to talk?” Rodney asked, voice sullen and scratchy.

Sheppard gave up pacing to straddle the one chair in the room. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said. “After, you know. What _was_ that?”

Rodney clamped his eyes closed and seemed to shrink in on himself.

Sheppard tried a different tactic. “You know, while you were in here using all the ship's water Kavanagh was out talking. He's convinced a lot of people that Lovecraft wasn't all that fictional and that you really do worship Cthulhu.”

Rodney snorted. “That's because Lovecraft really wasn't all that fictional,” he said. “I went to Miskatonic for my undergrad, did you know?”

“I did not,” Sheppard admitted.

“It's a decent school, they still have a parascience program. Dr. Randall's recommendation got me into the Stargate program; I still don't know what he said that convinced them.”

Sheppard sat back, thinking.

“You have security clearance,” Rodney said. “See if you can get ahold of some of Delta Green's files. They're a branch of the State Department that got formed by the veterans of the Innsmouth raids of 1928. I bet they've got some interesting stuff, see if you can get the real reports without all the redactions.”

This surprised John. “Wait, Innsmouth was real?”

“Was,” Rodney agreed. “It was a real town. Now it's just a patch of ruins relcaimed by the salt marshes north of Arkham.”

“How do you know about this 'Delta Green'?”

“My grandmother was orphaned during those raid,” Rodney said. He tensed up as he realized what he'd just said. “Please don't tell anyone,” he begged. “I mean it, please don't say anything because we're surrounded by military and I have no idea what their standing orders are on anyone they missed during those raids and I really do not want anyone looking too deep into what Kavanagh's saying and you have no idea why I'm freaking out about this so I should really shut up now, huh?” He made a very real effort to be quiet. It did nothing to hide his look of nervous terror.

“Hey, hey, it's okay,” John said. He left his uneasy sprawl on a too-small chair to sit next to Rodney on the bed. A hand drifted up to grasp a tense shoulder. “I'm not going to tell anyone.”

“Thank you,” Rodney said, relaxing slightly.

“So, two weeks in a puddlejumper with Lee and Kavanagh,” John said, trying to change the subject. “Without deodorant.”

“Without coffee,” Rodney added, letting the subject change. “Still, I bet they're going to have to bleach that jumper.”

“Or burn it.”

Rodney had to agree.

“Feel human again now that you've had coffee, shower, and blessed silence?”

Rodney tensed before giving John a carefully agreeing look. He forced himself to relax, knew it wasn't a test, couldn't have been a test, John wouldn't do that, it was just an innocent comment...

It had to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Wraithbait under a different name.


End file.
